


Until We Turn to Dust

by jeremey



Category: Dear Evan Hansen - Pasek & Paul/Levenson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, M/M, kleinphy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-19 13:10:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17002287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeremey/pseuds/jeremey
Summary: NOTE: This will not be finished.This story is locked so that only logged-in users can read it.If anyone shows interest in a rewrite of this story, I may consider doing so.This is where you belong. You couldn’t think of a place you’d rather be than in a tree cuddling with the love of your life, Connor Murphy.Jared and Connor have a secret relationship until Connor's "death," and Jared struggles with Connor's reappearance over a year later.





	1. Apple of My Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my first ever post to AO3. pls be gentle; i don't really know what i'm doing  
> shoutout to my friend jade for coming up with the chapter title
> 
> jared's POV  
> (cw: vomit)

Your back sits comfortably against the sturdy tree branch. Your fingers intertwined with his, you gave him the most genuine smile you’ve given anyone, ever. He smiles back, revealing the dimple on the right side of his face. Unable to resist yourself, you lean over and plant a soft peck on it. The warmth of his face against yours is comforting.

 

As you pull back, you look into his eyes. They remind you of the forest: a deep, sturdy, comforting brown. You used to not understand Evan’s fascination with trees—but you did now.

 

This is where you belong. You couldn’t think of a place you’d rather be than in a tree cuddling with the love of your life, Connor Murphy.

 

You’re not sure how it happened, really. It started with a text, asking him if he was okay. Then it was you two sending memes back and forth to each other, daily, which somehow led to little talks about his family life, about sexuality, about anything you and him wanted to talk about.

 

Soon, you revealed the the growing feelings you had for him, since you’re not the kind of person who’s too keen about keeping your own secrets. He was surprised by how blunt you were, but he said he felt the same.

 

You agreed in the moment to hold back any kind of public relationship for fear of being bullied, though a few days later you told him you wanted to be boyfriends, just in secret. You were so _nervous_ about it—you thought for sure he would say no. You were so nervous that you asked him to hold back his answer in fear of your incoming panic attack. After taking a few deep breaths, getting your heart rate back down, you told him you were ready.

 

 _Yes,_ he typed. You puked immediately, though it was the happiest puke you’ve ever puked.

 

You and he agreed not to talk to each other in school unless you _had_ to. Connor suggested you two could meet up in the abandoned apple orchard, where no one would see. Though you thought it was a bit cheesy, the idea was wonderful and you gladly agreed to it.

 

Every weekend—and often during the weekday—you and Connor would meet up in the orchard, just enjoying the time you and he spent together. Sometimes you would bring board games, and Connor often joked over text about how he would one day bring his Wii and TV with him so you and he could play Mario Kart together.

 

That didn’t happen, of course—it’s not like there was anywhere to get power from, anyway—but you and Connor grew closer and closer each day, leading to this moment of pure bliss.

 

“I love you,” Connor mumbles, squeezing your hand, pulling you back into the present.

 

“I love you too, Connie.” He makes an endearing squeak at the sound of his nickname, which prompts you to give him a little kiss on the nose. He squeaks again.

 

“I _love_ you,” you repeat, blushing. He’s probably blushing, too, though you’re too flustered at the moment to get a good look at him.

 

Your eyes wander off into the sky. It’s getting ever so slightly more orange. Your wrap your arm around Connor’s shoulder, and he scoots a little closer to you, keeping his balance steady.

 

“You know that you are my f _aaa_ vorite person~” you quote, glancing at his face to catch his reaction. He chuckles.

 

“Is it _weawy_ twue? I’m your f _aaaaaaaa_ vwite pewson~?” You kiss his cheek. You and Connor start singing lovey songs to each other, back and forth—a few from musicals you watched together online, and many from the Spotify playlist you made up of songs that reminded you of you and him.

 

The sky soon became a soft array of oranges, reds, and yellows. The day was slowly coming to an end.

 

“Betcha I can climb up higher than you,” Connor challenges, nudging you with his elbow and giving you a cheeky half-smirk.

 

“You’re on.” You hesitantly let go of Connor’s hand (How long have you been holding it?) and grab the branch above you. You’re focused on climbing higher and higher, mind set on beating Connor, until you hear him yell at you from the field below.

 

“Watch this!” he yells, racing towards—of course—the tallest tree in the orchard. You gaze at him with dreamy eyes, watching him climb higher, higher, higher. You were so focused on him that you didn’t notice the branch below you giving in.

 

At least, you didn’t notice until it finally snapped, sending you tumbling towards the ground. _“Fuck!”_ you shout. You couldn’t focus on anything except for the searing pain in your body—mostly in your back. Through your teary eyes, you watch Connor quickly but steadily climb down the tree.

 

 _“Jared!”_ Connor yells. You hear his footsteps frantically get louder.

 

“Oh my _God_ Jared are you okay?” You grunt in response. Connor wraps his arms around you for a few minutes, consoling you and rubbing circles into your shoulders.

 

“I’m so sorry—I should have known the branches on the tree were weaker at the top—I shouldn’t’ve let you—” You cough, stopping him from rambling further.

 

“It’s okay,” you say. “You didn’t know.” You give him a reassuring smile. He still seems worried out of his mind. “If you wanna make it up to me, I wouldn’t mind a kiss,” you say, half-joking. Quickly, he presses his lips against yours, then against your cheek, then on your nose. As he pulls back, he breathes in heavily, clearly trying to calm himself down.

 

“Remember 4-7-8, Connor,” you say. “Through your nose—one, two, three, four… Hold it—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven… Out your mouth—one, two—”

 

“You nerd,” he interrupts, planting another kiss on your lips. _“You’re_ the one who just fell out of a tree, not me.” He was smiling, softly, still worried, though a bit more under control.

 

“I’m okay, really,” you say.

 

“You sure?” You still feel a bit sore, but you don’t think anything’s broken. You nod.

 

“Think you can stand up?” Connor asks. He stands first and holds out his hand. You grab onto it tightly, as if your life depends on it. Once you’re on your feet, he pulls you into a warm embrace.

 

“I love you so much, Jared.”

 

“I love you, too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wanted to write some fluff before getting into the nitty gritty of the story :>
> 
> this chapter takes place before the events of the musical  
> the other chapters will take place after the events of the musical
> 
> thanks for reading <3


	2. Foggy-Eyed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> stuff happens
> 
> evan's POV, then connor's POV, then evan's, then connor's  
> (cw: suicide mention)

Ever since À La Mode opened back up, you saw yourself going there every day after your classes. You usually ordered a small vanilla cone, but today you decided to treat yourself with their homemade hot fudge. Things have been stressing you out recently, and you deserve that hot, chocolatey goodness, right?

 

As you sat down, you saw it again.

 

You never viewed yourself as the kind of person who would hallucinate, but you swear to god that you _keep seeing him today._

 

Get yourself together, Evan. Surely it’s just someone in your peripherals that _looks_ like him. Long dark brown hair and tallness aren’t exactly a rare combination of traits for people to have. You’re not going crazy, and Connor Murphy sure as hell isn’t alive.

 

You regained your senses and took a look around. Nothing, as usual.

 

You shake your head. You’ll try to bring this up to your therapist the next time you see him. For now, you should go home and get some rest.

 

You scrape what's left of your hot fudge into the trash. On your way out, you hear someone clearing their throat. You don't think much of it until you hear it again, louder.

 

There's a chance that whoever is clearing their throat is trying to get your attention, but there's also a very very good chance that they're trying to get someone else's attention. The best and most obvious course of action is to ignore it and keep walking.

 

_“Evan Hansen.”_

 

Shit. That’s you, isn’t it? The only reason someone would say your name in such an I-want-your-attentiony tone is if they _wanted your attention._

 

You realize you've gone completely still. God, the longer you put off responding to this voice, the more awkward things would be.

 

Hesitantly, you turn towards the voice.

 

You didn't quite recognize him in the first moment (which is surprising, because you’ve been thinking about him pretty much _all day),_ but then it all came flooding back to you.

 

It's coming back to you all too fast. Your ears start ringing louder and louder. Through your starry vision, you could swear the man in front of you had wings—wings like an angel would have.

 

However, you couldn't think on it much longer as you felt your body going limp.

 

* * *

 

Fuck.

 

That didn’t go how you planned for it to go at all. Not that you had anything planned, but if you _did,_ your plan certainly wouldn’t include a fainting Evan. You stare at him awkwardly in the parking lot for a few moments before picking him up with semi-ease. You carefully lay him in the passenger’s seat of your truck.

 

_Evan Hansen._ He was Jared’s friend, you remember. They’re probably still friends. You make a mental note to ask him about Jared later, once things were sorted out (and also once you figured out exactly what you wanted to say to Jared).

 

You plop into the driver’s seat, lost in thought.

 

Christ, you're a real fuckin' freak, aren't you? Faking your own suicide. For what? Just to go back to this hellhole after this whole getting-a-whole-new-identity, starting-a-new-life thing didn't work out for you?

 

Of course, that's not the only reason you came back.

 

You side-eye Evan. He’s still out cold.

 

You weren’t really expecting to find him today. You’re not sure if you were expecting to find him, period. It was just luck that you saw him out on the sidewalk downtown, and you’ve been awkwardly following him all day.

 

Hm.

 

Man, that’s basically stalking, isn’t it? Don't you think it's kinda creepy to follow someone around? Also, aren’t you basically kidnapping him?

 

Whatever.

 

It’s not your fault, really. You weren’t _planning_ for things to pan out this way, like you said. You didn’t have a plan. You just wanted to talk to him.

 

Maybe you really _are_ a freak.

 

You start the ignition, nonetheless.

 

* * *

 

Dear Evan Hansen (you like starting your more serious thoughts like this after the assignment your therapist gave you), face it: you should probably ask about getting some sort of hallucination medication sooner rather than later.

 

It’s slowly been escalating to the point where you're, like, 90% sure that you're going crazy. It's not like you didn't see this coming. You're already an anxious mess—might as well throw in seeing dead people!

 

Speaking of which, are you, like, dead? Like, right now? The last thing you remember seeing is—an angel, right? Connor Murphy's angel, you think. And he's like, super dead. So there's a good chance you're dead, too. It happens sometimes, doesn't it? People randomly die all the time, don't they? And you're sure the hot fudge didn't help. It probably went straight to your brain and gave you a stroke. And now you're dead! Good fucking job, Evan. God, you always find a way to screw things up, don't you?

 

_Click._

 

The room suddenly goes bright, and you blink a few times to help your eyes adjust.

 

Okay, maybe you're not quite dead, but you're not quite sure where you _are,_ either.

 

"Uh..." You turn your head towards the doorframe to find Connor Murphy giving you a look of concern. This time he doesn't have wings.

 

"You awake?" You nod.

 

"Am I dead?" you ask. Connor shakes his head.

 

"Are _you_ dead?" you ask.

 

Connor lets out a breathy chuckle. You think he says "I wish" under his breath, but he shakes his head.

 

You focus your attention on your hands—your sense of touch. You feel... Soft. Bedsheets? You're in a bed. Where the hell _are_ you? What the _fuck_ is going on? What the fuck is going on?

 

Your breathing becomes choppy as all this new information sets in. You start hyperventilating, though you didn’t want to admit it. You have a strong urge to hide, so you hastily grab a blanket to the side of you and cover yourself in it. It smells a little weird, but that's not important right now. Where _are_ you, Evan?

 

_Evan?_

 

* * *

 

_"Evan?_ The fuck?" You try getting his attention, but after this fails you decide perhaps that he needs a moment alone. Maybe how he was in the video really _wasn’t_ an act. Or, y’know, _maybe_ this situation would actually freak anyone out. He thinks you’re dead, doesn’t he?

 

You step aside into the kitchen. Do you think Evan likes tea? He likes trees, doesn't he? Tea comes from trees (at least, you're pretty sure it does), so he probably likes tea. Either way, _you_ like tea, so you go ahead and make tea.

 

Tea in hand, you knock softly on the bedroom door before opening it. Evan is still under your blanket, but he doesn't seem to be freaking out as much as he was earlier.

 

"You want tea?" The blanket lump makes a somewhat-affirmative noise.

 

You sit on the bed next to Evan and uncover his face. "Tea?" you ask again. Evan nods at you shakily and sits up.

 

"You're probably wondering what's going on." Evan nods again. He seems to be staring off into space.

 

You crack your knuckles. "I'll start from the beginning, I guess."


End file.
